Underestimated
by cardinalzen
Summary: She had always been underestimated by the world around her. Narcissa-centric. Complete.


She had always been underestimated by the world around her. She never displayed the outspoken conviction of Andromeda, arguing for her admittedly unpopular opinions of tolerance, or the headstrong unpredictablity of Bellatrix. In her studies at Hogwarts, she had done well but not excelled at any particular subject. Her mastery of the skillset required by the magical world had been thorough but not flashy, and it was easy for her fellow students and, indeed, the faculty, to believe they had a pretty good measure of her. They were wrong. For hiding behind those dark eyes lay an exceedingly clever mind, quick to unravel the thorniest problem, reducing it to its component parts, and viewing it from every possible angle while most others would still have been categorizing it as such. This talent would be exceedingly useful in her adult life.

After graduation, she had done what was expected of one of her social standing and bloodline, marrying the only son of the Malfoy family, heir to its vast fortune and bearing an ancestry as pure and aristocratic as her own. She had felt some affection for him then, of course; what young woman could fail to appreciate his beauty? Yet as the years progressed, their son was born and grew, she came to the very quiet and hidden realization that her husband, though still beloved, was exceedingly flawed at heart. The opinions of others mattered more to him than they should have, and he was careful to always remind them just how important he and his family were. What she had initially taken for a confident belief had in actuality been a desperate attempt to convince himself and those around him of his worth. Of course he had been taken by the Dark Lord's speeches and philosophy; it was very alike to what they had been taught as children by their families and had never needed to question as adults. Yet, even in those early meetings, she had distrusted the charismatic Tom Riddle, for behind the charm there lay something hidden, almost reptilian, and his self-centeredness was obvious if one bothered to look. Her sister had uncharacteristically become enamoured, enchanted by the visions of the future, with herself by the Dark Lord's side, glorying in the world they would of course create. To her horror, her husband too fell under that spell, seeing advantage where none truly lay. It was not her habit to undermine him, and when it became obvious that he was set on his course and that no amount of persuasion would change his mind, she seemingly fell in line, but it was not over. No, her resistance had simply become a more hidden strategy.

This was not to say that she had anticipated their downfall in society – both the clandestine one of the Death Eaters and the larger of the entire wizarding world – that had come as a surprise for she could not see the benefit to the Dark Lord of allowing her husband to be condemned and banished to the living hell of Azkaban. Gradually, she realized that benefits had not been considered. That was merely punishment, a child's petty vengeance because the Dark Lord had found himself thwarted and had lashed out at the obvious scapegoat. Even that had not been enough humiliation and sacrifice; no, the next one to suffer would be Draco. Given an impossible task, he had not shied away, though he could not have viewed it with any enthusiasm. She could not allow him to face this alone, and as she was unable to help him directly, she had convinced Severus to make the unbreakable vow and step up to protect her son.

She had held her family together, as Draco watched his dreams die, growing more disillusioned and distant, as Lucius confronted the truth about himself, unhindered by the façade he had presented to the world. When Draco had returned to Hogwarts, she had surrendered her wand to him, leaving herself vulnerable. What more could she lose?

She had followed the Dark Lord into battle with no real interest in the fight at all, hardly caring who came out the winner. But when the Potter boy walked into the Forbidden Forest, alone and unaided, she had seen him for the first time, not as an annoying brat, but as a courageous young man, willing to meet his fate and spare his loved ones. It was a sentiment she recognized all too vividly. She knew that, had the situation been reversed, the Dark Lord would not have been so bold. Despite his taunts to the boy, he had spent the near-entirety of the battle waiting, safe from most direct danger. Had the situation been reveresed, Voldemort would have used every last one of his followers to protect himself, with no thought for them whatsoever. She held herself still, smoothing away any reaction as the killing curse was cast, clinging to the near-impossible hope that perhaps the boy was not dead, that perhaps there was still a chance to save her son. She cared not what became of the Dark Lord. She was unconcerned as to what price she might have to pay. She would see her son safe.

Gathering her courage around her, she stepped away from the safety of her husband's side, pulse pounding in her ears, to kneel beside Harry's still form. Shielding him from observation, she whispered her question, her entire existence hanging on the answer. When he responded with the faintest nod, she drew herself up, turned, and met the Dark Lord's questioning gaze squarely and did the impossible. "Dead." She lied unhesitatingly.

In the end, Voldemort's downfall would come at that most underestimated, completely discounted motivation: a mother's love for her child.


End file.
